


A Lesson in Screaming

by Vorrir



Series: Collège de Rock Collection [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Suicide mention, school of rock au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorrir/pseuds/Vorrir
Summary: This takes place directly after chapter 5, Duets and Drama.As I've said, I want to try and reintegrate the class perspective, so I'm going to be adding snippets such as this to show how the class gets along with Mr. Duval.Suicide mention. Fair warning, and all that.





	

Ivan had assumed that the next he would hear of this band project would be on Monday morning. He had also assumed he would be able to sleep in on the first day of his weekend. Both of these assumptions were wildly unrealistic, he realized, as his mother threw his covers off to wake him long before noon.

Holding her hand over the phone’s receiver, she hissed out, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a project with your teacher? He says you two are meeting now!”

Ivan had too little information for his groggy mind to understand, so he decided to articulate his confusion in the utmost of detail, as to incite further explanation.

“Bwuh?”

Good job, brain.

Rolling her eyes, his mother said, “Get up, Ivan. We’re going.”

It wasn’t until they drove into the warehouse district that Ivan finally understood the goal of their trip. Based on his mother’s insistence, however, he couldn’t exactly say no as she ushered him out of the car. With a brief farewell, his mother sped away, promising to pick him up whenever he called her. Sighing, Ivan turned to the large double doors, which seemed far more imposing than last time. Wishing Mylene was there, he hesitantly knocked, hearing the retort echo on the other side. Fidgeting outside, he almost jumped when the door creaked open, Mr. Duval peering out.

“Ah, good, you made it.” He said. Waving, he added, “Come in, come in.”

Moving in, Ivan noticed how little had changed since his last visit to the warehouse. The lights still shone through a haze of dust. The walls were still chipping off their paint. The stage still held their instruments, seemingly untouched since the day before. What struck him, though, were large wooden planks drilled onto the walls, a stack of dark blocks pushed into a corner.

“I started working before you got here,” Mr. Duval said.

Moving to the stack of what he now saw were thin slats, Ivan asked, “What… What is all this?”

Picking one up, Mr. Duval simply said, “Soundproofing.” At Ivan’s curious look, he explained, “These bad boys have served me well over the years. The fabric helps dampen sound in spaces like this, so we don’t deafen ourselves while playing as loud as we can. This frame is just to hold it all together, see?” He then turned it around, showing Ivan that it was indeed just a wooden frame with a scrap of fabric stitched onto it. Moving to the wall, he added, “They also help to keep outsiders from calling the cops on noise violations.” He then reached up, hanging the large wooden frame on nails he had hammered in earlier. “Grab a stack of those, will you? They’re actually pretty light.” Mr. Duval asked.

Ivan hesitated before grasping the edges of one of the frames, lifting it slowly. He had honestly expected a heavier piece of fabric from what Mr. Duval had said, as he nearly hit himself in the face with it. Correcting himself, Ivan shifted his hold in order to grab four of the wide frames. It was a tad awkward to walk with them, but he managed to make his way over to where Mr. Duval was extending his hand. With thanks, he took the top sheet, hanging it beside the last. This continued for roughly an hour, with Ivan toting stacks of soundproofing to and fro.

Eventually, they had finished installing the mats, Ivan panting slightly from the exertion. Noticing, Mr. Duval said, “Hey, good work. Let’s grab some water.”

With a muttered, “Sure,” they moved to a corner of the warehouse, where Ivan saw a small fridge had been set up, with folded chairs leaning against the wall. Gratefully taking the respite, Ivan slumped into one of the chairs, accepting a cold water bottle when it was offered.

Taking his own seat, Mr. Duval said, “Thanks for helping me set those up. That’ll help us a lot for what we’re doing today.”

Finishing the water in a single draught, Ivan asked, “What are we doing today? I mean, I’m okay to help out around here, but I kinda wanted to sleep in today.”

Mr. Duval chuckled, saying, “Same here, believe me. Well, my thought was if we met up as early as possible, we would have the most time to work on your singing.”

Hesitant, Ivan asked, “S-Singing?”

“Well sure,” Mr. Duval said, “what else are we gonna work on? Don’t get me wrong, there’s room to improve with your guitar, but I am honestly the most interested in how far your voice can take you. Alix is pretty much set for a record deal, Adrien has already performed, and Nino has a promising career ahead of him, but you stand out in my eyes.”

Scrunching his brow, Ivan asked, “Why me?”

Mr. Duval shrugged, saying, “It could be that I see a lot of myself in you. Or, that I like a challenge.” Moving his water to his lips, he added, “Hell, it might have just been the luck of a draw.” With a wink, Mr. Duval finished his water, saying, “Regardless of my reasons, I want to see you grow. Would you like to see that too?”

Thinking for a moment, unsure of what that would all really entail, Ivan said, “… Yeah, I think I would.”

Clapping his hands, Mr. Duval said, “Wonderful! Join me at the keyboard.”

As they made their way towards the stage, Mr. Duval said, “Okay, now for today, I wanna start off slow. I know you can belt out some words, but I want you to take your foot off the gas pedal so we can work on your tone. Think you can do that?” At Ivan’s nod, he added, “Good. Now, I want you to do as I do.”

Flipping a switch on the keyboard, Mr. Duval began playing scales. As he did, he said, “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do. Now you.”

Ivan cleared his throat, trying to imagine singing quietly like Mr. Duval had just done. With his cue, Ivan began his first attempt, noticing right away that he sounded closer to a dying seal, rather than a singer.

With a nod, Mr. Duval said, “Alright, try that one again. Remember to breathe evenly.”

Repeating the first note enough that Ivan felt confident he had it memorized, they tried again. Moving between the notes still left something to be desired, but there was movement at all, which was an improvement.

This continued for a good hour, Mr. Duval encouraging him all along the way. Where Ivan was flat, they remained there until he sang the proper note. When he sang too loud that the note was lost, Mr. Duval would calmly guide him back. Until, eventually, Ivan performed a full set of scales.

With a flourish, Mr. Duval said, “Yes, perfect! Now, for the rest!”

“The rest?” Ivan squeaked.

They began moving up the piano’s range, trying to find Ivan’s limit. These came easier, since Ivan understood that he could, in fact, sing accurately. When he eventually strained his neck, his voice a cracking mess, Mr. Duval nodded approvingly, noting the key with a pencil. Letting Ivan have a breather, Mr. Duval started over, this time moving downward. Once again, they steadily progressed down, until Ivan’s chin was to his chest, each attempted note a monotonous rumble. Again, Mr. Duval noted the last recognizable key, admiring the difference. Thinking for a moment, he added two more marks, three notes further in each direction.

Returning with another water bottle, Ivan asked, “What are those marks?”

Pointing with the butt of the pencil, Mr. Duval said, “These are your current limits. Everything inside of here is free game. These,” pointing to the outer marks, “are where I think you can go. Let me guess, this is the first time you’ve done scales?” At his nod, Mr. Duval said, “Good to know. We’re going to be starting every meeting with these, so you’d better get used to them. Now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for. You ready to rock?”

With a shrug, Ivan said, “As I’ll be.”

Mr. Duval looked physically hurt at Ivan’s response. Groaning, he said, “No, no, no, Ivan! I asked if you were ready to rock! Not if you were ready to pick up a vegetable platter! Now, from the top. Powerstance.” Spreading his legs past shoulder width, Mr. Duval motioned for Ivan to copy him. When he did, Mr. Duval said, “Fists at your side.” Copying each other, he added, “One to the sky. Now, I ask you again, Ivan Bruel. Are. You. Ready. To. Rock?!”

“Yeah!”

“Alright!”

“First thing’s first: Endurance. How long have you been able to scream at a time in the past?” Mr. Duval asked.

With a shrug, Ivan said, “I don’t know, maybe five minutes?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Duval said, “No, that won’t do at all. That means you’re hurting yourself at this point. Here, try this…”

They spent the latter half of an hour working on scream theory. From breath control to throat protection, they covered what they could before Ivan was even allowed to sing again. When he was allowed, he actually found it a good deal easier to belt out a note, both with knowledge of how to sing it traditionally, and the beginnings of actual instruction.

Checking his watch, Mr. Duval said, “Hmm… That should be good for today. Follow me, would you?”

Curious, Ivan followed Mr. Duval as he made his way through the warehouse, retreating once again into the alcove hiding the long mirror. Pulling it out, Mr. Duval set it alongside one of the major walls.

Shrugging off his jacket, Mr. Duval said, “Do me a favor, Ivan, and look in that mirror. Tell me what you see.”

Raising an eyebrow at the question, Ivan looked to the mirror and said, “Uh, myself?”

Undoing his bowtie, Mr. Duval said, “Elaborate on that, please. Explain yourself as you would to a blind person.”

Scratching his head, Ivan said, “Well, uh, I’m wearing cargo shorts, a black t-shirt, and boots.”

“Good job, I know your wardrobe. I mean, break down what you see in the simplest of terms, and tell me that.” At his confused look, Mr. Duval said, “Try this, tell me one word, the first word that comes to mind when you look in that mirror, just don’t give me, ‘Me.’”

Taking a moment to look at his reflection, Ivan eventually said, “Fat.”

Pulling up a chair, Mr. Duval sat, saying, “Good. Go on.”

“Awkward.” Ivan was lost in his reflection, finally in a position to voice his insecurities as he said, “Angry. Unapproachable. Worthless. A sad sack of shit that doesn’t deserve what he has.” Whirling to face Mr. Duval, Ivan had tears in his eyes as he asked, “There, you happy?”

Whistling, Mr. Duval said, “Wow, it takes a real piece of work to say that to your best friend.”

Confused, Ivan asked, “What? I was talking to myself.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Duval said, “you were talking to yourself. The person you wake up with, see every day, and tell secrets no one else will ever hear.” Mr. Duval pointed to Ivan’s reflection as he said, “That is the person who will never leave you, even on the off chance that everyone else does. He will still be by your side, so why are you trying to push him away?”

Ivan looked down at the ground, suddenly very self-conscious of his outburst.

Taking a deep breath, Mr. Duval said, “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t say that to shame you. I just wanted you to see how harmful what you just did was. Trust me, telling you that is infinitely better than finding out for yourself. Convincing yourself of your own insecurities can leave scars you have to carry for the rest of your life. Often, in the most literal sense.”

At that, Mr. Duval rolled up his sleeve, bunching it up at his elbow. He then let Ivan see the end result of a slippery slope, a faded vertical scar along Mr. Duval’s forearm. It took him a moment to understand, but Ivan’s eyes slowly widened with realization, his hand moving to cover his mouth.

Mr. Duval looked at the wound, saying, “It was a low point in my life, that’s a given. I felt completely and utterly alone. I had spent so long telling myself that I was a sad sack of shit, eventually I believed it. Enough to think the world would just be better off without me. My sister found me in the bathroom. Six hours and twelve stitches later, I had one of the worst conversations with my parents I have ever had the misfortune of facing. One that ended with me seeking therapy, and my parents questioning where they went wrong. Years of physical therapy, and I still can’t feel three of my fingers.” Sighing, Mr. Duval covered the scar again, saying, “That is my burden to bear. The absolute last thing I want to see happen to you, Ivan, is for you to take on that burden. Or, worse, prepare better than I did, and lock the door.” Uncertain what to say, Ivan simply stood there, trying to process what his teacher had just told him.

Standing up, Mr. Duval said, “Alright, Ivan, I want to share a trick I learned from my therapist, one that I really think will help you, but you need to trust me, okay?” At Ivan’s nod, Mr. Duval said, “This will most likely sound scary, but I’m gonna do the exact same thing as you, okay? The idea is to face our lies, and meet them with truth, sound doable?” Waiting for Ivan’s assent, Mr. Duval pressed on, saying, “Okay. Now, take off your shirt.”

Ivan’s face blanched, crossing his arms. Throwing his hands up in defense, Mr. Duval said, “That came out wrong. I’ll be on the other side of the mirror, but I need you to be facing yourself for this. The biggest lie we share is that our weight disqualifies us from life, so we need to face that lie head on. That’s one of the major reasons I asked for you alone. I honestly think this will help you because it helped me, but if you really aren’t comfortable doing this, we can stop.”

Ivan thought for a minute, staring at his reflection. He sized himself up, glaring at every fault and flaw. Mr. Duval let him think, trying to give the patience others had shown him. Eventually, Ivan took a deep breath before he said, “Alright. If you really think this will help… Just, go on the other side, please.”

Nodding, Mr. Duval said, “Of course, Ivan.”

Patting Ivan on the back, he walked around the mirror, facing the featureless back of the piece. After a moment, Mr. Duval heard a sigh, as a black shirt was draped over the top of the mirror. Mr. Duval followed suit, tossing his button down onto the frame.

Mr. Duval said, “Alright, you’ve already told me what you think of yourself, so we’re already ahead of the curve. What I want you to do, is stare into your eyes, and say, ‘I am loved. I am heard. I am here.’”

After a pause, Ivan said, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Ivan muttered, “I am loved. I am heard. I am here.”

“What was that?” Mr. Duval asked.

Ivan cleared his throat, saying, a tad louder this time, “I am loved, I am heard, I am here.”

“Louder, Ivan, I can’t hear you.”

“I am loved, I am heard, I am here.”

“Louder, man!”

“I am loved, I am heard, I am here!”

“Louder!”

“I am loved! I am heard! I am here!”

They would have kept this up for hours were it not for the hushed sob Mr. Duval heard. Rushing around the mirror, Mr. Duval brought Ivan into a hug, thankful when he wasn’t pushed away.

Clinging to him, Mr. Duval said, “Shh, it’s okay. You did so good, Ivan. Hell, I only got through two repetitions before I was wailing on the floor my first time.”

Eventually, Ivan pulled back, and Mr. Duval let him, the two of them keeping each other at arm’s length. Mr. Duval pulled Ivan’s shirt from the frame, offering it to the boy. With muttered thanks, Ivan put it back on, drying his cheeks with a sleeve afterwards.

Noticing a visible ease in his shoulders, Mr. Duval asked, “Felt good to hear some truth, didn’t it?”

Ivan could only nod, not quite trusting his voice yet.

“Your mission,” Mr. Duval said, “should you choose to accept it, is to do this once a day. Take three minutes out of your schedule, and tell that to yourself, just as we did.”

They stayed there for a minute, sharing an amicable silence as Mr. Duval pulled back on his own shirt. Ivan seemed lost in thought, so Mr. Duval lightly knocked his shoulder, as he said, “Hey, you should go talk with Mylene. Head on home, and give her a call.”

As if suddenly remembering the outside world, Ivan practically ran for the door with rushed farewells. The doors closing, Mr. Duval was left alone in the warehouse, staring down his own reflection.

Laughing under his breath, he began carting the mirror back to its alcove, whispering, “I am loved. I am heard. I am here.”

**Author's Note:**

> This... Admittedly grew much longer than intended.
> 
> As always, I live for feedback, so if you have a question, concerns, or just wanna say, "Hey," I always keep my eye on the comments.


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